Accidental
by LittleGingerBiscuit
Summary: A substantially fluffy one-shot detailing Sherlock and John's "accidental" first kiss.


**Hey :D Wanted to post a one-shot for you guys, so here's a substantially fluffy little fic about Sherlock and John's accidental first kiss. By the way, anyone with a tumblr account should follow my blog: boys-from-baker-street dot tumblr dot com.**

Most relationships start out as a set thing. You go on a date or two, kiss each other goodbye before you part ways, and eventually escalate to calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend.

This was not the case with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

It had started like any normal day, a Saturday, in 221B.

John shuffled out of his room and yawned, in the process of pulling a cable-knit jumper over his head. His hair was a messy disarray of blonde, and his clothes were crumpled.

"Going to the shop," he muttered through a yawn. "Need anything?"

Sherlock, who had been awake since five in the morning and was now sitting fully-dressed in front of his microscope, shook his head. "No," was his curt reply.

John nodded and went to pull his jacket off the hook by the door. Sherlock's coat was hung up there too, the sleeves of both garments touching. However, as he was sliding his arms in to the jacket, his phone rang.

He sighed and fished it out of his jeans pocket, trying to comb his fingers through his hair as he did so.

It took him only a minute to check the text and groan.

Sherlock looked up from his microscope. "Problem?" he asked, sounding minimally interested.

John rolled his eyes and again pocketed his phone. "Nothing," he said. "Just Sarah."

Sherlock stood up and walked forward towards John.

"She wants me to work today. You won't blow up the flat or anything while I'm gone?"

Sherlock frowned. "You have so little faith in me," he said.

John smirked. "With good reason." He sighed and put one hand on the doorknob, half turning to face the door. "Ok, I'd better be off. Later."

"Later."

Sherlock leaned in and pressed his lips to John's quickly, then went back to his microscope as if nothing had happened. In the same way, John simply left the flat completely unaffected.

~Sherlock~

It was actually Sarah that woke John up that morning, with a cup of black coffee thrust under his nose.

"Oh, I don't drink coffee," said John. "Sherlock does…"

Sarah rolled her eyes and took a sip from the cup. "It's not _for_ you. It's mine."

John blushed faintly. "Oh."

Sarah watched him work with a critical eye for a few moments. "You mention Sherlock a lot," she observed after a while. "Is everything ok with you two?"

"What do you mean?" asked John with a frown.

She shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "Just, you seem kind of out of it today. I was wondering if something had happened. An argument, maybe…?"

John froze, the pipette in his hand dripping liquid paracetamol on to the unit. Because she was right – something _had_ happened. But it was far from an argument.

~Sherlock~

When John got back to the flat he opened the door slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible with the plastic Tesco bags in his hands.

Sherlock was still seated at the kitchen table, and John wondered if he'd moved at all since he'd left in the morning.

He looked up when John came in, however.

"Need any help?" he asked, standing up.

John shook his head mutely and set to work unpacking the shopping. The silence was heavy and agonising.

"So," said John, trying his best to sound conversational. "Did you…did you have a good morning?"

"As mornings go it was fairly uneventful," Sherlock mused, leaning against the unit and folding his arms.

_Well, that hurts_, thought John, vaguely surprised that his flatmate thought nothing of the fact they had kissed earlier that day.

"You…um…you don't remember anything?" John tried again, swallowing a huge lump in his throat.

Sherlock pondered this for a moment. "I found a chemical combination that can turn the inside of a kiwi fruit pink," he offered.

John nodded and turned around, hiding his disappointment by stocking the cupboards with packets of dried pasta.

"You're doing it wrong," murmured Sherlock, and suddenly John felt a pair of arms slide around him, a chest press against his back, and a warm breath on the back of his neck.

Sherlock was standing very close behind him, taking the shopping from John's hands and lining the shelves with surprising expertise for someone who barely ever does it.

John was about to say something, but then Sherlock leaned in very close to his ear and whispered, "We don't need to put labels on this – just enjoy it."

**Hope you enjoyed! Please please PLEASE review and follow my tumblr :)**

**Amy xxx**


End file.
